On the Mend
by Paralyzing Kings
Summary: Injured after a mission gone wrong, the Prince must slowly piece himself back together, with the help of a certain blonde soldier. (BenxPrince, test story)


Disclaimer: Lionhead Studios holds the rights to all that is Fable, Fable 2, and Fable 3. The Author is in no way making profit off of this story.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, intense situations... Also, this story **will** contain malexmale relationships. If this offends you, then please find another story to enjoy. Thank you.

A/N: Ah, well... Another piece from me? Impossible! Alas, I was struck in the head with a rather large brick, demanding that I write this down. I don't know how much I'll do, or if I'll even complete it... But I wanted to at least have it written down, and have all you lovely people tell me what you think. The main precipice of this story will be a BenxPrince relationship, because quite frankly, there isn't enough of it. This story begins before the trek for Aurora, and then ventures slightly away from the story line.

* * *

_ It was difficult to rouse from the swallowing darkness, the type that limited the movement of limbs and refused to let eyes open. It was impossible for one to do anything except lay, prone and defenseless, and simply listen to what could be around them..._

_"He isn't awake yet?"_

_Silence stretched for a few moments, before, "No, not yet. Give him time, Ben... He went through a traumatic experience; Hero or not, it will be some time until he's up and about again." Walter's voice._

_A sigh of frustration and then a soft, tentative response. "Still. He's a lot better now, yeah?"_

_A scoff. "If by 'a lot better' you mean he isn't screaming or bleeding all over the floor? I think so..."_

_Jasper's familiar voice cut in, and one could almost _see _the look of disapproval from butler to knight. Or, you could see, if not for the infernal darkness that couldn't be shaken. "Enough, both of you. Your child-like bickering will do nothing to help our Prince recover. Keep it down... Speaking of, Captain, you should be resting as well. Tristan wasn't the only one injured from that explosion."_

_The silence that stretched through the darkness was sheepish, but as the good butler had demanded, silence reigned supreme._

_It was due to this stillness in the air that Tristan once more succumbed to painful unconsciousness._

* * *

"You've lost your bloody mind, Ben," Tristan accused in exhaustion, pulling his blade free from the now-deceased body of a thug. A frown marred his lips as he eyed the blood that stained the weapon, but gave it little notice as he sheathed the blade. There was no point in cleaning the sharp steel if it would simply be dirtied moments later.

The blonde Captain paused in mid step before looking back to Albion's Prince, that same shit-eating grin plastered on his handsome face. "Oi, I thought we've established this a long time ago, mate. You're the brains _and_ the brawn, and I'm the dashing rogue with the devilish good looks. Together, we're the perfect team."

Tristan rose a brow, blue eyes gazing at Ben almost skeptically. He wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be offended. Still, as his mouth opened to say something else, a battle cry was screamed into the air behind the Captain. Raising his pistol and tilting his head back, Tristan took aim, fired, and promptly nestled a bullet in between the eyes of a thug who had hoped to catch Ben unaware. The thug collapsed upon the cobblestone ground with no sound.

"Well, you should take your 'devilish good looks' and put them to better use. Like trying not to get yourself killed."

Ben gave a good-natured scowl, and the Prince was almost certain that he was the only one who could successfully pull it off without looking like an idiot. "A time and place for everything, hm?"

Indeed, this was hardly the place for joking around and flinging insults at one another in friendly comradery. The Captain and the Prince had teamed up for what would hopefully be a quick mission that they had snagged from Page and her men; to tear apart the barracks of Logan's elite guard. What they _hadn't_ counted on, however, had been the fact that it seemed hired hands were in cahoots with Logan's men. Not that the mission would be impossible to do now, no... It just made things a tad bit more difficult.

So far, however, the two had carried on with little problem. There were a few of either hired goons or Logan's 'elite' men around each corner of the compound, an impressively large building nestled in the corner reaches of Bowerstone Industrial, yet they had somehow managed to not get swarmed by a small army. He and Ben had planned their attack to happen just after midnight, but before the shifts could change, so the barracks would surely be full... So even though they hadn't iencountered/i any problems, that was a problem in itself.

"Where the bloody hell is everyone?" Tristan asked at last, tossing the question that had been bothering him into the air for discussion. By Ben's expression it seemed that he was wondering the same thing, and surely they had explored most, if not all of the compound, so it wasn't like Logan's soldiers could simply be hiding.

"I have no idea," Ben murmured in answer, taking that brief moment of respite to wipe the sweat from his brow. Looking around the empty room that they stood in, a worried look pinched at his brow. "We should keep going, though, just to make sure we got all of 'em. C'mon." With that, Ben led the way out of the room and into an open hall, and Tristan dutifully followed, not only watching _his_ back, but Ben's as well.

Since their fateful meeting in Mourningwood and thus the first time that they had fought side by side, Tristan had found something so utterly _intriguing_ about Benjamin Finn, and he couldn't place his finger on it. The Captain was a handsome fellow, there was no doubt about it, but there was something more to him than just looks, which Tristan had secretly admired from afar. Ben was charismatic, funny, quick-witted, and confident, and many other things that Tristan himself was not. Ben was just... So terribly _different_ from everyone else that the Prince had met during his life, that he couldn't help but be attracted towards him. Perhaps attracted wasn't the right word. Perhaps captivated?

Giving a shake of his head, Tristan pulled himself out of his reverie. Those were thoughts that were better reserved for another time, or even better to be cast aside and forgotten. Nothing would come of digging deeper into the strange affinity he had towards a certain blonde Captain, for Ben was very much a straight man. That, and, he wouldn't want his earlier words of 'paying attention less suffering the consequences' to be thrown back at him simply because he was daydreaming.

Forcing the thoughts to the back burner of his mind, Tristan focused on the task at hand. The plan was simple; get in, kill the guards, then get out and blow the compound to high heaven with explosives that they had borrowed from Sabine. Except so far, their 'simple' plan was turning out _too_ simple.

Coming to a door at the end of the hall, Ben paused with his hand upon the knob, glancing to Tristan. Readying his pistol, the brunette Prince waited for Ben to silently count to three using his fingers before the door was thrown open, revealing yet another room with little more than a few tables, chairs, and a few barrels of ale. Tristan went in first, gun raised, icy blue eyes glancing around the room and analyzing every detail. The only sound was their muted footfalls against the stone flooring. There was no one else around; no guards, no hired mercenaries... Nothing.

"Okay," Tristan said, his tone suspicious, "Really. What the _hell_? Why is _no one_ here?"

Ben looked just as unnerved, scanning the room with his rifle and a frown marring his scruffed face. "I have no idea, mate. We were told that it was supposed to be stocked full of guards tonight..." Aside from the tables, chairs, and barrels of alcohol, the room held two windows, both against one wall to the left of them, and two doors - the one they entered, and one other on the other side of the room.

The brunette Prince finally lowered his pistol, eyes seeking out those of his companion's. He didn't like that suspicious look in Ben's vivid blue eyes. "Did Page say _who_ she heard it from?"

The Captain gave a shake of his head. "No, she didn't... Although now that you mention it, this is seeming terribly suspicious."

Giving a rough exhale, Tristan dipped his head forward in a nod, idly reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. Making a brief mental note to have Jasper cut it the next time he stopped in the Sanctuary, he went on. "Well, you can chastise her about it later," he commented, continuing on quickly lest Ben deem it worthy to toss out a dirty comment, "I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, so I think we should either just get out of here and back to headquarters, or continue on our way."

"We've already come this far," Ben reasoned, tilting his head slightly as if in deep thought, "We might as well check out the rest of the place. If it's clear, we'll finish up and leave."

Although a part of him didn't want to agree, Tristan did. It was something in the pit of his stomach that told him to be cautious, a subtle churning that wasn't too unlike the feeling of getting sick... Except that this feeling had only arose when the worst was about to happen. Sucking in a deep breath to attempt to settle his nerves, the Prince took one last look around the room before giving Ben a stern nod. "Okay," he stated, checking over his pistol, "Let's move on."

The two moved to the door on the opposite side of the room, and as before, Ben reached out to grasp the handle. Tristan squared his shoulders, held his gun tight in one hand, and waited until Ben counted to three one more time, watching as the blonde's hand grasped the knob on the door and turned. Instead of flying open, however, the wooden door remained stubbornly shut. Ben's frown turned from one of worry to plain curiosity, and he wiggled the knob a few times, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

"It's locked." Ben stated, looking back at Tristan. That was... Strange. Still, nothing a Force Push spell couldn't handle. Placing the Black Dragon back into its holster, the Prince moved back to charge a spell when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. As his head turned to look, the sound of a door slamming broke the silence, and the two men snapped their heads back the way that they had come. The door that they had entered from, being left open in case of a hasty exit, had been slammed shut, and Tristan couldn't contain the curse that slipped through his lips. Turning, the Prince hurried back to the other door, trying the handle and finding it locked as well. A sinking suspicion began to form in his mind, and looking back to Ben, Tristan was pretty sure that he was having the same epiphany.

"Ben? I think we've been set up."

It was the only explanation. Why the halls had been so empty and barren of numbers, why they were progressing through the barracks with such ease... Still, Ben was given no time to respond before something blocked out the moonlight from one of the windows on the other side of the room, where Tristan had previously taken note. The glass of the window shattered, and a small item clattered noisily to the ground, a soft _fsst!_ filling the room. Tristan's eyes absorbed the sleek, black item, and the short wick that was lit, and dread filled every corner of his body as he realized just _what_ he was looking at. _A bomb!_ Turning as if it was perhaps the only thing that would save them, the brunette's eyes found Ben, still standing by the first locked door of the room.

Time moved as if in slow motion, and looking back, Tristan would later wonder if it _had_, spurred by a spell manifested from the pure desire coursing though the brunette's blood. Still, the Prince's main priority was simple; protect Ben. "_Ben!_" The scream that ripped from his throat didn't sound like his voice, but Tristan didn't care. He lunged forward, one arm outstretched towards the blonde, and about the time that he felt his hand connect with the Captain's arm, the explosive behind them detonated.

The sound struck them first, a horrific, nightmarish _boom!_ that was followed by a pressure strong enough to throw Tristan from his feet, almost as easily as he would toss away an apple core. What he crashed into next, he wouldn't be able to tell, as the only thing the Prince was aware of was pain and agony before darkness stole his world.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I'm cutting this off here. One, for a cliffhanger, and two, to tempt myself to return. I'm terrible about not updating my stories, so I might as well tease myself to type more, hm? Anyways! I'm back, but I'll be taking things slow. I lost a lot of muse for my other story, Of New Beginnings, when my old laptop crashed and I lost hours and hours of work.

So, please let me know what you think! This is un-beta'd, so excuse any typing/grammatical errors. Please review!


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